


The Six Kings

by Gobetti



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Bromance, F/M, Kings AU, medieval setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:03:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2562377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gobetti/pseuds/Gobetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Before the moment of the passing of the Four Founders came, they decided to choose one of those they had nurtured to replace them; a human fit to carry on their godly legacy, and to rule the people in their place.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>In his speechless shock, an involuntary thought occurred to Geoffrey Ramsey.</i>
</p><p>
  <i> He was The First.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Six Kings

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic and this whole AU is based around [Mallius'](http://mallius.tumblr.com/tagged/royalty-boner) kings pictures, and the short phrases she adds to them every now and then. I asked her for permission to write this, so if you see something that sounds familiar, now you know why.
> 
> Visit her [Tumblr](http://mallius.tumblr.com/) and give her the love and appreciation she deserves.
> 
> Also thanks to [Khemi](http://khemi.tumblr.com) for helping me with beta'ing this fic :'3 u rock as always.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> \--

When the four gods set eyes upon the universe, they saw a blank canvas stretched out before them, and with brushes held carefully in their great hands, they painted the cosmos across it.

While the stars were scattered over the infinite darkness, the planets were placed with gentle care into the perfect spots, meticulously decorated like gems nestled amongst the plain coal of the sky. The unique details added to each and every one of them were stunning and precise, and they were the greatest pride of the four gods.

Once these worlds were populated, and their inhabitants began to care for themselves, the gods appeared to them in forms resembling their own, passing down to them a message of wisdom, hope, and success. The gods ventured forth to all worlds this way, but they took a special interest in one planet alone, and one particularly rational species upon it that had taken over much of its land. There, they chose to stay and reign, setting out laws under which the world thrived for many centuries.

But like any creature of flesh and blood, their time among the living was limited.

Before the moment of their passing came, they decided to choose one of those they had nurtured to replace them; a human fit to carry on their godly legacy, and to rule the people in their place.

In their dying days, they summoned the people of their Kingdom to the Golden Throne, where they sought an heir amongst the crowd, calling forth one man they found fitting to carry the responsibility and honour of being their lone successor. The four founding gods wove him a crown of gold from the air itself, blessed with their wisdom and heavy with their burden, announcing him to be the heir of their reign, he alone who would rule once they passed, the commander of the Kingdom until this crown was claimed by another worthy man.

Geoffrey Ramsey felt a chill shiver run down his spine at the words, the heavy implications of them weighing instantly upon him. Although they were benevolent, the creators were known for being cruel in their fickle moments; they were but children poking at ants to see what would happen, arrogant in the knowledge mere ants cannot fight back and _win._ He casted his eyes over those before him from atop the altar he had been given no choice but to stand upon, trembling when the crown was slowly lowered onto his head.

They announced his name and title aloud, and a great cheer rose up from the masses.

“Long live King Ramsey!” the crowd sang in chorus, and Geoff straightened his back, taking a deep breath and begging his tight fists to stop shaking. He turned away from the people - _his_ people - with a question for the creators on the tip of his tongue-

But instead his eyes widened and he was left silent, heart skipping a beat when all that greeted him was the vast expanse of forest beyond the Throne’s walls.

They weren’t there anymore.

After centuries of their rule, the gods were simply gone.

In his speechless shock, an involuntary thought occurred to him.

He was The First.

\--

Michael walked the castle’s hallways with pride, hand firmly clasped around the hilt of his newly acquired wooden sword. Today was special! He’d become a page the day before, and was now officially under training to be a royal knight- which he knew he would be. He’d make it no matter how hard it was. He’d longed to be one since he was younger, ever since his mother had taught him all the responsibilities of a noble knight: to protect the Kingdom against mean guys, and people who wanted to do bad stuff! He’d wear that armour proudly and hold his real, not-wood sword with confidence.

He puffed out his chest at the thought, steps now heavier and quicker as he made his way towards the open field where he was supposed to meet his peers. He walked by the throne room on his way, and when he noticed the doors were open out of the corner of his eye, he slowed his pace like the curious child he admittedly _was._ Through the entranceway, he spied the King, sat upon his throne with a cup loosely hanging between the fingers of one hand, talking to the Queen as she pointed at the papers she held with a stern seriousness in her tone. The Ancillary hung close to them, back slightly curved to join the conversation. Probably boring political stuff, Michael thought, huffing through his nose. They were so deeply focused on their affairs that they didn’t even see the brave Page standing in the doorway!

He was about to hurry off to where he was meant to be when he spotted that someone _had_ in fact noticed him. A skinny boy, probably his age or younger even, stared at him with wide green eyes set into a face that was framed by straight blonde hair. A baby was playing with some flowers on his lap, and it only took a moment for Michael to recognise her as Princess Millicent, the King’s young daughter, complete with her usual poofy dress and shrill laugh.

The boy was different though. He was wearing a loose green vest and slightly too-large black boots that were worn from use. He was a new face in the castle, one Michael couldn’t place at all. Millie was busy placing flowers into the boy’s hair, but he paid her no mind, his expression finally changing from a gormless gawp into an excited grin with a few gaps in it. He shyly raised a hand and waved, but all the motion did was snap Michael out of his own, stupid staring, panic flooding him as his eyes widened and he quickly turned to scurry away.

He forgot all about the boy for the rest of the day. He had much more important business to attend to.

\--

No one knew how old the King was exactly. It was said that he was at the prime of his age when the founders crowned him, and that back then he mostly looked like a scared boy trying to hold more than his feeble hands were able to carry. The King already had wrinkles that mapped his face and white hairs that dotted his beard and mustache, and heavy, tired eyes that spoke lengths as to what he’d seen and done, and although no one thought the King wasn’t a great, just man, Michael saw as he grew how it slowly began to dawn on everyone that King Ramsey was ancient and tired, and that a retirement was most likely the best option for him. He’d outlived the men and women he’d grown with, and people began to wonder why he looked so much younger than he actually was, and why he never abdicated the throne.

That is, not until the secret of the crown was revealed.

King Ramsey called his subjects to the Golden Throne one summer morning, and answered all the unspoken questions lingering in their minds. He spoke of the crown, and how it wouldn’t accept a replacement unless it was first stained with the blood of its former owner, claimed in the throes of battle. The crown accepted only the worthy, and if the one who took it was found to be so, the forge at the Elder’s tombs would melt the crown along with gold extracted from the tomb’s Monolith itself, so the crown could be forged anew, befitting of the one who would now bear it.

King Ramsey finished his speech and left, but no one else followed him. The villagers were frozen with fear and awe, trying to absorb all they had been told, their frightened eyes wide as they lingered on the empty Throne before them. _The King is immortal_ , they whispered. But who would dare to take the good King’s place? _Only a mad man thirsting for power_ , they murmured, but Michael remained silent, fists clenched by his sides.

He looked over at Ray, his best friend for as long as he could remember, and saw how his eyes shone and how the slightest of grins spread over his tight lips. The expression was concerning, for reasons Michael couldn’t place, and he frowned, unsure of what was on the brown skinned boy’s mind for the first time ever.

To his worry and unspoken surprise, three days later the boy was gone, not even a single note left behind.

Years passed, and the sudden vanishing of his friend was pushed forcefully to the back of his mind, given all the new responsibilities that came with the increased training he got after being promoted to royal knight, just as he’d known he would be. Even though he was now living in the castle, with his own private quarters and even bathing area, Michael never really knew the King personally. The knight encountered him every now and then while passing through the hallways, before or after and sometimes during his training, now more often than not. Just what you get for being one of the best swordsman in the last few decades, he supposed, straightening his back and smiling widely, not unlike the way he so often did when he was a young lad; but he was a grown man now, almost twenty, with rebellious curly hair that refused to behave and freckles that popped out when he spent far too long under the sun. His smooth chin and baby cheeks kept him looking much younger though, the complete polar opposite of the King, with his unkempt beard, heavy mustache and bright but tired eyes that seemed to shine when he was happy and darken like shadows over the sun when he was mad.

Michael also saw other royal subjects from afar every now and then, like Queen Ramsey, with her back straight and pale hair pulled back, usually walking by her husband’s side like they were equal, fists tightly holding on to the fabrics of her dress - that is, when she wasn’t on the pages’ fields practicing fencing, wearing leather pants and armor. Some vassals could sometimes be seen giving her reprehensive looks for such unlady-like outfits, but in rebuttal she and King Ramsey glared daggers at them until they were too intimidated to reprimand her for it.

Michael respected her a lot.

And then there was the Ancillary, a heavy but young and kind man, with red beard and brown eyes, his trusty sword always hanging on his belt as his focused gaze watched everything and everyone. He always accompanied the King in whatever affairs he had to attend to, no matter how little and simple or big and complex, and by the way they both interacted with each other, their laughs more often than not echoing unashamedly across the wide halls of the castle, Michael could say with certainty that they were very good friends, if not best, and that the King treated him almost like a family member.

He’d talked to these people a few times, sure. The King often complimented Michael on his technical skills, and both Queen Ramsey and Master Patillo nodded and greeted him when they saw each other, but it was always the sort of short and polite conversation one would have with their superior. Therefore, he was very surprised when one early evening he saw the blonde boy – Gavin, he’d learned with time – standing outside his door with an expression that faltered between nervous and excited.

“Uh. Hi.” He said, raising a hand in greeting as he fidgeted awkwardly. “Erm, the King asked me to invite you for dinner. At seven o-clock. Is that – is that ok?”

Michael kept his unnerving stare fixed on the young man until he bit his lower lip and began wriggling his hands in his green tunics. The King. Asking _him_ to dinner. He tried to remember if he’d done something unusual to require this invitation, but found nothing.

“Don’t really have a choice, do I,” was his reply, and Gavin shrugged.

“ _Well_ ,” the boy said, shoving his fingers into his pant pockets. “He _did_ say it’s just an invitation, not an order. No need to come if you have other plans or if you really don’t feel like it.” Michael raised a brow at that, and Gavin grinned fully, eyes practically lighting up. “He’s not an uptight guy, not like everyone makes him out to be. He’s pretty top for a King, actually. Absolutely hates when people treat him differently most of the time. So, like.” He waved his splayed hands in the air, and shrugged again. “Accept the invite or don’t. It’s not mandatory, _really_.”

Michael kept staring, silent, trying to figure the dude out, but apparently the initial nervousness that the messenger had when he first arrived had all but dissipated.

“We’ve got pork chops today.” He teased, grin wide and eyebrows waggling up and down for emphasis. “They’re tippy toppers.”

“Alright, fuck it, yeah why not.” Michael replied, and Gavin seemed ready to do a fistpump in the air. “Seven. Sure, I’ll be there.”

“I’ll inform him right away!” He exclaimed happily, skipping on the balls of his feet and running off down the corridor. Michael sighed and couldn’t help but feel a little regret at his decision.

In the end, the intimidation Michael was expecting to feel about the whole “dining with the most powerful man and woman in the Kingdom” thing vanished as soon as he arrived at the dining room. Along the long mahogany table sat the Ramsey family, gathered at one end of it. The King was at the head of the table with his Queen, Master Patillo and a petite woman Michael recognized as the Ancillary’s wife sitting to his right and the King’s daughter Millicent and the boy Gavin on his left, to Michael’s quickly hidden surprise. King Ramsey stopped talking and turned his head as soon as the door creaked on its hinges, and both he and the blonde boy threw their hands up in the air when they saw who it was.

“Eyyy! You came!” King Ramsey exclaimed, and Gavin followed suit, a wide smile spreading over his face, getting a giggle from Millie. “Come on, let’s get this party started!”

Michael rose an eyebrow, but said nothing of it. He pulled a chair next to Gavin as Queen Ramsey, Patillo and his wife all politely nodded and said hello to the knight. The moment he was settled, the King looked away, and with a shout and a snap of fingers a few servants entered the room and placed trays of steaming hot food before the group.

If he said he wasn’t taken aback he’d be a filthy liar. Michael, like almost everyone else, only interacted with the King under strictly formal conditions, so he’d never seen this cheerful, jovial side of him. He had a wide smile that made the crinkles on his eyes more prominent and his blue eyes light up, and he joked around with both Michael and his servants like they were old friends. Michael was stiff and tense, not knowing exactly how to reply to the blatant teasing, but the servants, obviously used to it, laughed and joked right back at him, not to mention his family.

Queen Ramsey wasn’t as serious as Michael pinned her to be either, but exactly as smart – at one point she talked about some conflict happening in a remote part of the Kingdom and her plans to fix the issue, while the King nodded along and suggested going there to assess the situation with her. Later, when she talked about some wooden project she was working on, the knight listened with curiosity as she talked about the measurements and her daunting ideas for it, and how much the hard work would be worth it.

King Ramsey and Gavin, however, were an apparent mystery to Michael. They talked to each other and treated each other as friends, despite the obvious age gap between the two men, but he could see how both the Queen and her husband chided him like he was their son. Michael always thought that he was just a foreign boy that lived inside the castle and never paid him much attention, aside from a few raised eyebrows and slight turns of his head when he heard this or that odd expression or a particularly high pitched shriek, but now that he thought about it carefully he remembered always seeing him around the King and the Queen, sometimes playing with Millie or chatting idly with the Ancillary.

Mostly Michael felt overwhelmed and confused. While the Princess was obviously a bit shy with Michael, everyone else treated him like a long lost friend, and he couldn’t wrap his head around _why_. After Patillo and King Ramsey asked him how his training was going and how being promoted to knight had been to him – mostly pleasantries and formalities to start off the evening – they just talked about random subjects and laughed at silly stories and jokes. By the time Gavin and Millie were chugging down their desserts like two silly children were prone to do (no matter if Gavin himself was nearly Michael’s age) he still had no idea why exactly he’d been summoned.

“So!” King Ramsey exclaimed when everyone set their spoons down and the plates were being cleaned out. “What did you think of dinner, Michael?”

“It was… wonderful, sir. I really appreciate it, haven’t had such delicious food in a really long while.”

“Good, very good. I’ll pass your compliments to the chef.” He nodded, and then turned to chide Gavin when he asked for seconds of his dessert. Michael nearly smiled at the scene, thinking it almost endearing, _homely_ even, but his smile dropped, suddenly remembering his place.

“Sir… if I may ask… is there a reason you invited me today?” Michael asked, voice low, and King Ramsey’s lips stretched into a smile that made his curled up mustache follow the curve of his mouth.

“Honestly, lad? I always thought you were a good boy. And we never had much opportunity to hang out properly, get to know each other, y’know? But then I though, _free food_. Free food is the key. No one refuses free food, right?”

“You’d have to be absolutely _mental_ to refuse free food.” Gavin added, his accent even more prominent than before, waving his hands about enthusiastically. “I mean, it’s _food_! And it’s _free_!”

“Exactly my point. So, apparently you’re not _mental_ ,” the man chuckled, copying the blonde’s accent, and Michael couldn’t help but laugh a little as well. “So you’re good.”

“Yeah. I’m good,” he agreed, letting a rare smile spread on his lips.

They stayed at the table for a whole nother hour until Master Patillo and his wife excused themselves for the evening and Queen Ramsey sent the “kids” off to bed. Michael took it as his cue to also head out, and he once again thanked the King and Queen for the meal and rose to his feet.

“If you’re not doing anything, by the way,” King Ramsey added before he left the table, “we should go fencing tomorrow morning. What do you say?”

Michael paused and nodded, a warm blush rising on his cheeks.

“It’d be an honor, sir.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, placing his napkin on the table and taking his wife by her arm. “Let’s see what you have to say about that honor of yours when I kick your ass on the field, kid. G’night.”

With a wave of their hand, both were gone, and Michael made his own way out.

\---

His ass was thoroughly kicked indeed, straight through to the next week it felt like.

He was lying with his back on the ground, lungs still empty from the force of the impact, and not a second later, before he could move, react, or do anything more than just struggle to breathe in and try to make out _what just happened_ , a sword slashed through the air and settled itself against his throat, the cold metal burning his flushed, hot skin. Slowly, his ears began functioning again, and he heard the roar of the people watching the match, chanting the King’s name. Michael slumped back against the floor as the sword was withdrawn and sheathed back at King Geoffrey’s waist.

“Told ya,” the older man teased, offering a hand to the knight, and Michael readily took it, grinning as he was pulled to his feet. “Ass kicked, man. I warned ya.”

“You really did, huh,” he replied, chuckling and retrieving his sword from where it’d flown after he’d been disarmed. “You’re really talented. I thought I’d give you a run for your money at _least,_ but you pretty much squashed me like a bug. I’m impressed.”

“Ah, kid, maybe I didn’t start fencing as early as you did, but I sure as heck had plenty of years to develop my skills,” the King countered, a warm grin under his tired eyes, which seemed to be his default expression when he was having fun, and he turned to the crowd, announcing the end of the show. Everyone slowly dispersed, going back to their errands, and he clapped a heavy hand against Michael’s shoulder when he passed him, walking away as he spoke. “I have shit to do, but that was fun. We should definitely do it again, and maybe I’ll teach you a trick or two.”

“That’d be great, sir!” Michael replied, smiling at the thought of having private swordsmanship lessons with his Highness, and King Geoffrey looked back, shaking a fist in the air.

“And don’t call me ‘sir’! Makes me feel old as dicks, god damn it!”

Some people looked, but no one paid them mind, and Michael gave a snort that would maybe have, in a more private place, turned into a full laughter.

\--

They did train more, like promised, but getting tips and proper lessons felt awkward and hard when there were so many curious eyes on them. King Geoffrey shooed the people away as much as he could, but still the pages seemed stiff and distracted on the training grounds whenever he was there. The teachers didn’t quite appreciate it either, so the King decided to move what became their weekly training to his and Queen Griffon’s private fencing spot.

They walked through the forest in silence. Michael knew this path, but it was very unusual for him to take it when he wasn’t a part of a crowd or when it wasn’t just him and Ray trying to sneak past the sentinels to climb the stone steps and sit on the cold surface of the throne, playing pretend as quietly as they could manage before they were inevitably kicked out and sent back to their parents, like usual. It felt weird in a way that Michael couldn’t really explain, the pang of nostalgia burning in his drumming heart.

King Geoffrey nodded to the sentinels guarding the gates, who nodded back at him in unison and stepped aside as he pushed against the heavy metal bars, placing them back in their place after they went through. Michael looked around as the King fiddled with the lock and observed The Golden Throne in all its beauty, rising from its stone steps, the never-ending torches that lit up the paler grass usually hidden beneath the carpet that led to it on special occasions, and the wide, open space around it. It awed Michael, standing there alone, next to the King, the sun’s rays hitting the mineral and making it gleam beautifully.

“No one will bother us here.” King Geoffrey said, stripping off his cape and unsheathing his sword. The knight nodded, mirroring him, both taking their stances. “May the best man win.”

“Exactly my intention,” Michael sneered, and lunged.

Hours flew by like minutes, and months flew by like weeks. They carried on with their weekly training, changing it to every other day until the King and the knight decided to clash swords whenever possible, meeting at the Golden Throne every single day for at least a whole hour unless more urgent affairs called to either one of them. Sometimes the sun burned their shoulders, other times the cold rain fell upon their heads, and more often than not the night buzzed with the energy of crackling skeletons, hissing spiders and sizzling creepers, but still they continued, the King teaching Michael everything he knew while the enthusiastic knight drank it all in, a young man thirsty for knowledge.

Sooner than expected, their skills came to match. Geoff announced at the end of an exhausting and winnerless battle that he felt like he’d taught everything he possibly could to the knight, which sincerely impressed him, given the little time they had had together, and Michael agreed with a smile and a warm feeling of pride bubbling in his chest. They slumped against the stone steps, worn out, Michael gasping and sweating until he could barely see with the water running over his eyes and catching on his lashes. Geoff was much the same; he huffed and panted, but besides that, looked absolutely fine for a man of whatever-his-age-was. Both had bruises and scratches, but no serious wounds that would incapacitate either of them in the close future. The silence drew on for a while, until Michael slumped his head to the side to look at his companion.

“Geoff… is it… true? The… the crown’s curse…?”

Geoff looked back at him, mouth agape as he struggled to calm his racing heart, and looked around before licking his lips and taking a deep breath.

“Not here, kid. Later.” He said, and Michael nodded in agreement.

That first dinner, Michael saw him as King Ramsey and King Ramsey only. A few days after that, he became King Geoffrey.

Now, to him, he was just Geoff, and to Michael the transition felt so natural that he barely even noticed it.

\--

“I’m old, Michael. Old as dicks.” Geoff said, throwing himself on a seat by the fireplace with a cup on his hand. The sun had already set and they’d been back to the castle for a while, already dressed with fresh clothes, their wounds treated and their limbs heavy. The King sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair, glancing at the burning wood beneath the fire before turning to Michael, sitting on a chair a few feets away from him. “Too fuckin’ old to still be alive.”

“You mean like, you should’ve dropped dead a long time ago? That’s precious.” Michael laughed, but when Geoff looked at him with cold, hard eyes his smile fell and his heart stopped for a second. “Wait, _seriously_?”

“Yes _seriously_ , Michael! Do you think I’d be saying this kind of shit if I _wasn’t_? God _damn_ it!” he shouted, throwing the cup at the flames. Michael widened his eyes and jumped when the metal clanged against the stone wall and the alcohol within it burned up and rose the fire. He’d never seen Geoff lose his temper like this, and as much as it hurt his pride to admit, it _frightened_ him. Once the room was silent and the flames engulfed the cup till it could barely be spotted amidst the coal, the King spoke again. “I’m like, what, a hundred and forty now? I lost count. Griffon still takes note, but I sure as fuck don’t give a flying dick anymore.”

“…How?” Michael asked, leaning forward on his seat, and Geoff looked down, his whole body almost deflating, his expression changing in the flip of a switch to sad and tired. “I mean… what the hell? I thought you were human!”

“I am, Michael. But when they gave me this… this _thing_!” He ripped off the crown off his head for emphasis and shook it, veins popping out on the back of his hand as he gritted his teeth at it, a mix of rage and despair now crossing his features. “This goddamn, disgusting piece of shit! It… it fuckin’ changed me, alright? I don’t know how. All I know is… they visited me on my house later, after the crowning. And they confirmed to me that I cannot die, if not by the hands of the person worthy to take the crown. Period.”

“Well… isn’t Griffon worthy to take it from you, then?” Michael tried, but Geoff laughed dryly, the sound lacking any traces of real amusement, and shook his head, elbows resting on his thighs. And when he looked at Michael, the light of the fireplace hit him just so, and on that moment the King looked as old as he claimed to be.

“Think about it, Michael. The fuckin’ crown is _cursed_. The one who wears it gains an extended lifespan, and it’ll only accept the next person on the throne if it’s stained with the blood of its predecessor. They didn’t tell me what would happen if I just gave it to someone, but just thinkin’ about it.... it gives me the chills for some reason. So even if Griffon _was_ able to kill me, I would never… no. I wouldn’t let her do it. Live with the weight of my death on her shoulders. With the weight of this... this _thing_. I _couldn’t_.

“The truth is, Michael… it’s about time I stepped down. But people already know that I’m not just going to do it, and no one has to balls to challenge me for it, obviously, that’s really fuckin’ wise too if I may say so. And… and I do want to give it away, dude, I do, I… I need to _rest_ , Michael. Goddamn, I’m _tired_.”

“But to find someone willing to take your place like that…” Michael murmured, worriedly. “They’d have to be _mad_. When you told us about it that day, I thought… it’s _insanity_.” He whispered, looking at Geoff, waiting. But the King just kept staring down, fists clenched shut around the crown. The words felt heavy in the air. “…Is there really no other way?”

Geoff smiled, but it never reached his eyes.

“If there was, lad… I wouldn’t still be here today, now would I.”

\--

When he wasn’t training with Geoff or doing his knightly duties or simply taking care of his own business, Michael and Gavin hung around.

It wasn’t something either one of them decided – even though if he thought about it, it was highly likely that the younger boy had planned it all along, since they first locked eyes when they were still kids. The knight didn’t know when or how it happened, but it was like the boy had eyes behind his back, knew exactly what people were doing and where. He knocked on Michael’s door in conveniently free days, when he literally had nothing better to do besides look at the ceiling and maybe sleep five hours more than he probably should.

The first time he came by he brought Millie and a deck of cards with him. Reluctantly, the knight let them both in, and for Michael’s shocking surprise they had fun. Millie was way better at the game they were playing than Gavin was, and even Michael, after getting the hang of it, managed to beat the blonde with extreme ease.

“Shitsmacking bugger, _that is it_! No more card games for you two _smegpots_ , that’s _bloody ridiculous!!!_ ” he wailed while the two of them laughed, and that was the wrap up of that evening.

The second time he showed up he brought a dice game and two bottles of booze, which Michael was grateful for.

“The game’s like, ten times more fun if you’re thoroughly smashed. Trust me on this one.”

Shockingly – again – they had plenty of fun. Gavin Free was indeed right; the game was pointless and stupid, but after the two of them downed the first bottle of whatever delicious alcoholic concoction Gavin had brought it suddenly became the best game Michael had played in _years_. The lads laughed and gambled fake lazuli and diamond coins until both passed out leaning against Michael’s bed.

The third time, they fenced.

Truthfully, it was Michael’s favorite activity. He loved the wear he felt on his muscles that came with the intense physical activity, the sweat running down his neck, the strain on his arm when he swung his sword and hit its target exactly as it should. Gavin found him practicing with a dummy one day and, wearing more appropriate attire for fencing – still all fashionably green and black though, the pattern resembling that of a creeper – approached him with a simple iron sword.

“Come on, then. Fight me.” He teased, and Michael was thrilled to oblige.

He began carefully, testing the waters, trying to see what Gavin could do. One, two, three steps, and Gavin was already on his seventh one. Note: quick on his feet. One, two, three hits, the first two blocked and the third one made him step back and almost lose balance with the sheer impact. Note: lacks strength on upper limbs. Gavin looked amused, with that faint shadow of a smile that was always plastered across his lips, but still he kept his full attention on the match, docking when Michael dared to move and lunging for his open spots when Michael dodged back.

Note: Smart. Fast thinker.

But still his skills weren’t nearly as good as Michael’s, even back when he still wasn’t up to match with King Geoffrey. Soon he found himself staring down at Gavin, sword on his neck as he grinned down at him.

“Again!” the blonde howled, jumping to his feet and doing the whole routine again. The more he lost, the more frustrated he got, and Michael giggled at the sight. He had to admit that the man was persistent and highly entertaining, if nothing else.

They gave up when the match was five to nothing, but only after Michael was made to promise teaching some of his moves to Gavin, something he’d agreed to fairly quickly for some reason.

“What’s the deal with you and the Ramseys anyway?” Michael asked one cool summer evening, when they were out throwing stones at a shooting target they’d placed a few long meters away from them. Gavin shrugged and tossed another rock, hitting the edge of the wood and sending it spiraling up high.

“Honestly? It’s complicated.” He replied, licking his lips as Michael looked at him sideways. “See, my parents – well. They. Passed away. When I was a wee lad.”

“Geez, I’m sorry.” Michael offered, and Gavin just shrugged again.

“’s alright. Don’t even remember them, honestly. All I know is what Griffon’s told me, that they were in town when...” he paused, looking down and thumbing the smooth stone on his hand. “I hid beneath her skirt and clung to her leg as Geoffrey absolutely mullered the criminals. I didn’t let go of her for three days straight. Eventually they found out I had no other family, so they brought me in.”

“So you’re sort of like their adopted child.”

“Sort of, yeah.” He said, chucking the stone with incredible force and hitting the edge of the target again. “Dang it! But, uh, I don’t see myself as their kid? And at the same time I do. Like, I want to be their friend, but it’s hard to not be all clingy with Geoff and Griff. They’re really good parents. So, yeah, there you go.” He finished, looking directly at Michael. “Does that answer it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Michael shrugged, grabbing a handful of pebbles off his feet and throwing them one after the other at the target, hitting bullseye again and again and again until Gavin squeaked, outraged.

“Why, that’s bollocks! Oi! _Bloody hell_!!!” he screamed, pushing Michael just as he bullseyed one last time with the bigger pebble left in his hand. “How’d you—“

“ _Boosh!_ ” Michael exclaimed, raising his arms above his head and laughing as Gavin made the funniest indignified noises by his side. “And _that’s_ how it’s done! All hail motherfucking Mogar!!!”

“You cheeky little smegpot, were you going easy on me?! I’ll skin you alive, you bastard!!!” The blonde screamed, and they both ran in the garden with Gavin chasing Michael, screaming bloody murder after him, and the knight thinks that that’s when they shifted from mere acquaintances to very close friends.

\--

When Ray came back, Michael first thought he’d seen a ghost.

Then, he wondered what the hell he’d done with his hair.

Out loud.

“What the _hell_ have you done with your hair?!” he screamed, lunging at his best friend and hugging him tightly. Ray laughed and returned the hug.

“Hello to you too, Mogar!” he sniggered, and after they both patted each other’s backs for almost a whole minute, they parted, smiles plastered to their faces. “And just so you know, nothing. Absolutely nothing. I didn’t cut it, didn’t trim it, barely washed it, actually, for like, a year? Maybe more, something like that.”

“Holy shit, you really are a disgusting pig, you fucker.” The knight giggled, throwing an arm around his friend’s neck and pulling him close, the knuckle of a finger rubbing against his dirty scalp while Ray struggled and tried to push him away. “Where the fuck did you wander off to, you ridiculous piece of shit? You just freaking vanished!” he exclaimed, pushing the brown skinned man away playfully and leaving him rubbing his head and the back of his neck.

“Eh, well. You know. Places. I felt like I needed to do something out of myself. Like a life challenge or something. But less about me, that’s boring. What about you!” he perked up, turning to face Michael fully and hold him by his shoulders. “Look at you, still fancy with your royal attire. Anything new while I was gone? No no no, don’t tell me, you’re finally a royal knight?!”

“Wow, how could you tell?” He grinned, banging on his chest plate emblazoned with the royal crest for emphasis, and Ray cackled, making Michael shove his shoulder. “And well, if you could call making new friends anything new, then yeah, I guess, sure. Had to replace your ugly face somehow, didn’t I?”

“New friends? I’m _wounded_ , Michael. I thought we were strictly exclusive to each other! How could you cheat on me like this, I was only gone for, like, five whole years, you back stabber!” Ray exclaimed, placing a hand over his chest and clutching his tunic, pretending to be hurt. Michael smiled and Ray slapped him, smiling widely. “Freaking introduce me, man! Who is it, do I know them?”

“Oh, you know, it’s no one.” Michael said, waving his hand and grinning like a maniac. “It’s just Ancillary Patillo, the Ramseys and their adopted son. Oh, wait, yeah! You _do_ know them, right?”

Ray froze, his smile faltering. He was torn between laughing and frowning, Michael could tell, but from the array of reactions his friend could to have to these news this was the one he feared the most, given the circumstances on the last time he’d seen him and all of Michael’s suspicions regarding his disappearing. He remembered the talk he had with Geoff by his fireplace just a couple of weeks back and held his breath, waiting.

“The Ramseys? You mean, THE Ramseys?” Ray asked, and when Michael nodded there was a second when Ray’s face just _fell_ , like he’d heard something potentially awful, before he perked back up and chuckled, only once. “Well that’s a bit of a shocker. How did you befriend the King, of all people?”

“Actually, he befriended _me_. I have no idea either, to be honest. But he’s a good guy, his whole family is.” Michael replied, shoving his hands in his pockets and going for nonchalant. And that was the end of it, apparently, as Ray began talking about random things he saw during his highly mysterious travel and asking all sorts of questions about what Michael had _really_ been up to lately.

He introduced Ray to Gavin on that same day, and for some reason the two of them got along greatly, and by nightfall they were just three drunkards singing the songs of their people to no one in particular.

Michael remembers this time of his life as one of the happiest he’s ever been, and more often than not he wishes he could go back in time and forever live on it.

\--

Days passed, quickly turning to months, and slowly Michael felt himself falling back into his usual daily routine. He’d eat, train – he now fenced with Gavin, Geoff and Ray, and he kept himself on his toes by studying their different fighting styles and how to beat them –, wash himself and patrol the Kingdom with the other royal knights. If it was his day off, he’d usually spend it with Ray and Gavin, and after Michael had first introduced the newest lad to the King, who’d greeted him like an old lost friend (“Anyone who’s been Michael’s best friend for so long has a place in my table. Welcome back to my Kingdom, Narvaez.”), the three of them would join Geoff and his family for dinner in the evening. Ray quickly warmed up to Jack and Geoff, quickly learning their inside jokes and falling victim of their pranks, and soon it felt to Michael that the five of them were nigh inseparable.

Until the night when Ray finally decided to take action.

“Michael…” he whispered, drawing shapes on the dirt with the tip of his sword, and Michael looked at him, finding it rare to see the dark haired man so quiet. “If you had the chance to change your entire destiny with a singe decision… what would you do?”

He was pensive for a moment. It was a weird question, because if you had the chance, why wouldn’t you take it, right? But the knight had a vague idea of what Ray was talking about, so instead he remained silent.

“What did you do those years you were away, Ray?” He asked instead, voice low, serious. Ray chuckled once, sadly, a lopsided grin on his lips. The sun slowly began to go down, and both watched closely as it disappeared behind the hills.

“I was training. Improving my sword skills. But I guess I didn’t have to tell you that, since you knew it already.”

Fuck. Michael ran a hand through his curly locks, sighing out, frustrated.

“Jesus, Ray. What are you planning on doing exactly?”

“Become King.” Was his reply, and he looked at Michael with hopeful eyes. He glared back at his friend.

“You fucking know the implications of becoming King, Ray, and I don’t just mean the huge responsibility of taking care of an entire Kingdom on your shoulders. You know about the crown as much as everyone else.”

“Yeah. Yeah I know.” He nodded, staring back at the dirt, and Michael slapped the grass next to him, irritated.

“Then why the fuck are you still on that?! Are you seriously considering _killing_ Geoff? He _trusts_ you! Aren’t we _friends_?!”

The silence stretched out once again, Ray dragging the blade on the dirt and creating intricate spirals, watching them like he was hypnotized, but Michael knew better. He was tense, deep in thought, guilt almost radiating out of him.

Ray always thought unfair of how some had so much and others had so little. Although the King’s fortune wasn’t something ridiculously obscene he still lived in a highly secure stone castle, the property taking over the space of at least twenty common wooden houses, not to mention how he always had the ladies at his feet and dozens of knights and trained guards at his whim. But it wasn’t just the power of being sovereign that enchanted Ray, but the perspective of being able to change his own fate. Be someone else from whom he was designed to be.

Michael sighed again, rising to his feet and crossing his arms. “Whatever,” he spat out with as much venom as he could, “do whatever the fuck you want. Geoff gave the green light to anyone who wanted to challenge him for the crown, so go right ahead if you’re _so sure_ about this. But don’t expect me to like it or even approve of it. Geoff is my friend, _our_ friend, and if you’re going to kill him, don’t think I’m going to ever forgive you.”

Michael walked away, not looking back at his friend, steps firm and certain. Before he knew it, he was in the throne room, opening the doors without announcing himself, making the guards shuffle and startle, but once they recognized who it was they settled and only looked at their King with a questioning stare. Geoff looked back at them from the papers he was holding and nodded, the guards closing the wooden doors that the knight left open behind him in his rage.

“You ok there, buddy?” Geoff asked, raising a brow and placing his papers aside, and Michael stopped at the foot of the throne, breathing deeply like every intake of breath was painful to him. His eyes stung, his throat burned and his face felt warm. He wanted to scream and cry and punch something, all at the same time.

Instead, he breathed again, and said, “Ray’s going to challenge you for the crown”, with a voice so shaky he’d try to erase the memory of it for years and years yet to come.

Geoff stared back at the boy, with his fists shaking and his lips wobbly, mixed between a rage fit and a breakdown. He preserved the silence of the room, broken only by Michael’s breathing, and relaxed.

“Okay.” He said.

Michael widened his eyes and pressed his nails tighter onto his palms. “Okay? _Okay_?! _That’s all you have to fucking say, you fucking piece of shit?!?!_ ”

“Stand down, knight. Calm down.”

And the King’s voice, despite his outburst and despite his firmness, was calm, collected, which only made Michael worse. He roared, stomped, reached for his sword only to yank it out of its sheath and throw it at a far corner of the room. He looked around, screamed, pulled at his hair and finally fell to his knees, body shaky and breathing labored. He’d never been so mad at _something_ , at _someone_ , and the exertion that it took on him made him collapse, completely drained. Exhausted. _Done_.

“Michael.” Geoff whispered, placing a heavy hand on the knight’s back, and when had he kneeled next to the knight? Michael had no idea, so absorbed in his own thoughts that he could barely see beyond the red carpet he kept both his eyes fixed on. “Breathe. You’re panicking.”

“How... how can you be so _calm_ about this? Ray… he’s _trained_. You didn’t see him, he’s prepared for this, he’s good, he… he’s going to _kill you_.” Michael whined, and when he didn’t get any reply he looked up, only then noticing the tears flowing out of his eyes, running down his cheek and burning his skin. “What about Griffon? And Millie? And Jack, and Caiti, and… and _Gavin_?! Gavin sees you as his father, he’ll be devastated, they’ll…”

“I know, Michael.” The man said softly, rubbing his back slowly, and Michael gulped, feeling like his limbs were made of lead. “Do you remember when we talked, lad? By the fireplace?” he asked, and Michael nodded slowly, licking his lips. “I’ve talked to them about it. Millie… Millie’s older now, and I’ll have her mom sit with her when the time comes, but Jack, Gavin and Griffon all know that I’ve lived too long already. You know that, too. I won’t go down without a fight, and I will take Ray’s challenge willingly and fight like I mean it, but you know that eventually someone’s going to take me down. _I have to die_ , Michael.”

So, basically, he was going to lose one of his best friends either way.

God _damn_ it.

“I’m… going for a walk.” Michael murmured, and Geoff nodded, understanding.

“Fair enough.” He said, getting up on his feet and pulling the knight with him. “I’m gonna go talk to Griffon, let her know about it beforehand. Take it easy, kid.”

Michael could only nod as he staggered back to where he came from, the wooden doors opening to him as he pulled himself across them. His feet felt heavy and highly unsteady as he dragged them across the hallway, and in his daze, he turned the knob of a random door, and almost fell on his ass when a startled scream came from inside the room he was entering.

“ _Jeebus Lorenzo_ … is that you, Michael? What happened?” Gavin – apparently he was in Gavin’s chambers, _huh_ – asked him, voice slightly shrilly, and Michael only stared back at the man numbly, his vision blurry and head fogged up, like his thoughts were stuffed with cotton balls and the world around him sounded more than a bit muffled.

“...drink.” He finally managed to say, and Gavin cocked his head, confused.

“...huh?”

“I… I need a drink.” He tried again, louder this time, licking his dry lips and closing the door behind him. Gavin shuffled forward and placed both palms on his shoulders, holding the knight in place since he was visibly swaying dangerously on his feet and threatening to fall at any given second.

“Okay, uh…” the blonde looked around, back at Michael, and carefully guided him to his bed, sitting him down on the mattress. “Wait here. And don’t pass out.”

Michael did as he was told, mostly because he felt like he couldn’t do much more than that at the moment, given how _numb_ he felt. Gavin came back a bit later, a cup on his hands filled with water.

Michael accepted it, but glared at the blonde as soon as he took his first sip. “I said _a drink_ , you idiot, if I wanted water I would’ve fucking said so.”

Gavin flinched as the cup was thrust back onto his hands, and he frowned, biting his lip. “Well, you just look awfully _mingy_ , Michael, I don’t think that alcohol is—“

“ _JUST DO IT!!!_ ”

“Alright, alright, _fine_ you donut!” he yelled back, although not as loudly or fiercely, and stepped back to get a bottle of anything he had in hand. When he gave it to Michael, he chugged it, downing almost half of the whole container in one go as Gavin watched, wide eyed and speechless.

“Wha—slow down, what are you doing?! Are you mental??” he exclaimed, pulling the bottle from the knight’s hands and making him choke, which resulted in an almost never ending coughing fit that made Michael wheeze his breaths in and gag multiple times.

“If you puke on the floor I’m going to make you clean it with your tongue, you absolute maniac.” Gavin said jokingly, voice low and smooth as he tapped and rubbed his friend’s back, squeezing his shoulders as the man slowly managed to control his breathing once his nose and throat didn’t feel like they were on fire anymore. “How did the drink help?”

“Not at all.” He replied in a coarse voice. “I feel like shit.”

“See? There you go. Should’ve taken the water, like I said.”

“You didn’t _say_ anything, dipshit.” Michael groaned, coughing again, and Gavin slapped his back again, helping him onto the bed once the fit was over. Immediately Michael curled up, cold and hot and alert and exhausted, all at once, but the drink made his limbs weight down and the whole room spin. It was too hard to make sense of anything. His eyelids started to droop, and Gavin rubbed at his arm, comforting.

“You wanna talk about it, my boi?” the blonde asked, but the knight closed his eyes, sighing.

“Tomorrow. Just. Don’t leave.” He muttered, and when he heard his friend agreeing with him and throwing a heavy comforter over his body, the whole world went black around him.

\--

Later that evening, once all the preparations had been made and he’d finally put his daughter to bed, he felt the cool touch of a sword against his back when he was quietly leaving his chambers.

“I’ve been expecting you.” The King said, looking at the man sideways, eyes filled with venom. It sent a shiver down Ray’s spine, but he didn’t let it show.

“I thought Michael might let you know.” He grimaced, head jerking to the right. “Training grounds. Come on.”

Geoff nodded once, solemnly, and gripped the hilt of his sword, tracing the surface of a gem with his thumb. Ray removed his own weapon from the King’s back and walked side by side with him towards the cool air of the night.

They arrived without bumping into anyone. Geoff quickly ordered the night sentinels to leave them both be and give them some privacy. They obeyed without batting an eye, and the way his orders were followed so _effortlessly_ made Ray’s heart thrum inside his chest, reminding him of the powerful man he was facing against.

They walked each to a side of the field, like they would if it were a normal day of training, but that night was the real deal. That night their swords were as sharp as razors and both men fully intended on striking to first incapacitate and then kill. None of them were wearing armor besides the thick leather made available on the training grounds, and they both knew only one of them would survive. They bowed, swords drawn and stances taken, and slowly they began to round each other up, like hungry beasts evaluating their pray’s weak spots.

Ray breathed in, like he’d practiced, calming his nerves down. He saw that King Geoff was collected, concentrated, and in a second he matched his enemy’s state of mind like he’d done so many times before. Their boots stepped softly onto the dirt and their eyes ran wildly while both tried to remember the other’s fighting style, searching for an opening, a weakness.

“I’ve got a hundred more years of sword fighting than you do, boy. What makes you think you can win this?” Geoff asked, his voice roaring loud and sound over the quietness of the field, and Ray frowned.

“Michael managed to match your abilities in one year while I’ve been practicing for almost five now. If he could, then why couldn’t I, old man?”

“Because I wasn’t your teacher. And because you’re not Michael.”

Quickly the silent night air was filled with the clang of swords, hitting at full force against each other. Upon hearing the noises some guards ran to the scene but stood their ground at a fair distance, tense and alert, unknowing what to do since the King had warned them this would eventually happen and were strictly forbidden to intervene according to the instructions given by his Royal Highness himself. The two men spun and jumped with grace, the young boy leaping not unlike a grasshopper while the older man moved like the wind itself, dodging the attacks like it was a second nature to him. Clash, swirl, tumble, but none could hit the other critically, none could find an opening capable of inflicting substantial damage. Soon enough blood began to bloom from not-so-superficial wounds, and the sound of panting gasps mingled with the deafening sounds of the battle, and more and more servants approached the battlegrounds with eyes filled with dread and interest.

The Ancillary ran desperately, his boots hitting the floor as he replayed Griffon’s message in his mind, pushing his way among the people gathered in front of the oak doors that led to the fields behind the castle, and when he saw Geoff fighting, brows furrowed and his face slick with sweat despite the cold night breeze, he too froze, unsure of what to do.

All it took was a misplaced rock. All it took was a wrong step, and the King tripped back. Ray saw his chance and hit his chest with his knee, sending him tumbling back. Geoff yelled, collapsing heavily on his back, elbows supporting him up on the dirt floor, and Jack’s fist clenched against his own sword.

It all happened too fast, too suddenly, and yet the scene seemed to run in slow motion before the Ancillary's eyes. And without a hint of hesitation, Narvaez rose his sword, aiming the tip towards the King’s chest.

Jack felt his heart stop.

“ _Geoff!!!_ ”

Their eyes met for a second, brown against blue, and in the blink of an eye he heard the wet thud of a blade sinking onto flesh, breaking bones and rippling muscles on its wake. Geoff looked down with wide eyes, watching as blood began gushing out of the wound, as his face began to pale and his voice got gurgled and weaker by the second.

Jack ran to his side, kneeling before his King for the last time, hands hovering over his body, unsure of what to do. He repeated his friend’s name over and over, and Geoff coughed, blood spilling out of his lips, his breaths rasp and short.

The night was silent again.

“I win.” Ray whispered to himself after what felt like an eternity, after Geoff’s eyelids drooped down even further than normal, after he kept breathing for what was probably longer than he should have. “I win! I’m… I’m King!”

“Why, you insolent…!” Jack started, tears running down his face and vanishing beneath his beard, but a cold and firm hand on his arm stopped him, and he flinched, looking down at Geoff, who he’d believed to be already gone, lips charred and skin grey beneath his white and black beard.

“Congratulations,” he choked out, and his voice sounded like death. “King Narvaez.” The Ancillary widened his eyes, a few servants gasped, and the kid’s shaking grin withered from his lips. Jack grimaced with the urge of punching the life out of him. “Take the crown, if you so wish,” Geoff weakly continued, raising a bloody and shaky hand to the top of his head where his crown stubbornly resisted, and handed it to Narvaez, who dropped his sword loudly to take it, gingerly holding it between his palms, the glistening gold mingled with fresh red blood seeming to shimmer in the moonlight. “However… heed my warning, Ray... ” he coughed, choking in the process, his palm reaching down and clenching against the blade stuck on his chest while he pushed himself up with his other elbow. Jack rested a hand against his back, helping to support him, and the former King breathed deeply, the wound on his body seeming to bleed harder now without the aid of the crown’s curse forcingly keeping him alive.  “The position you seek… comes with responsibilities… beyond your comprehension. Beyond anyone’s.”

Inch by inch, Geoff rose up, his weak legs barely able to support his weight. Jack, right by his side, had his shaking hands hovering over his friend’s shoulders, unsure what to do or if to help. The hand still clutching the sword tightened, and the King pulled it out of himself in one swift motion, palm bleeding from the deep gashes made by the weapon. Under the moonlight, Ray watched, completely in shock, as the King’s skin began to wither as he approached him, step after step, as the bones of his cranium and each of his fingers slowly became more and more prominent, as he glared at the boy with greenish blue eyes that seemed to burn into his very soul, with more rage and _life_ than Narvaez had ever seen on the man back when he was _alive_.

“Blood beges blood, and the crown _sings_ for it, lad.” He whispered, face merely inches from Ray’s, his breath putrid, the smell of rotten flesh filling the air and clinging to the back of his throat. “I resisted its chanting. _Can you_?”

And with that, he dropped the sword to the ground, fell to his knees, and collapsed against Jack, like a doll whose strings were cut. It was over.

 _The old King is dead_ , Ray thought, fear and horror and nausea still shaking his entire frame as Jack held the men close and hid his face in his hair, weeping the loss of his best friend, as he looked around at the mourning and horrified servants, as the knights removed their helmets in respect.

It was _over_.

_Long live the new King._


End file.
